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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26199955">Wheel of Westeros Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Four</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau'>Thrafrau (annmcbee)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wheel of Westeros [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, King's Landing, Pentos, Slaver's Bay (ASoIaF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:15:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,359</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26199955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A spy has told young Griff of Dany's marriage to Victarion, and Dany finds out not only who told, but who her Westerosi merchant friend really is. Victarion and Dany's decisive victory in the Step Stones increases her kingdom, but Victarion doesn't mean for her to continue her rule for long. Asha wins her own victory in Slaver's Bay, with the help of a terrifying ally. Four leaders parlay at the Dragonpit in King's Landing, but an unexpected guest might drastically alter the already chaotic negotiations.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aegon VI Targaryen/Daenerys Targaryen, Arianne Martell/Aegon VI Targaryen, Long Haul Jon/Daenerys, Victarion Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wheel of Westeros [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wheel of Westeros Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>The Wheel of Westeros</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Book Six: Rise of Asha Part Four</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Disclaimer:</em>
</p><p><em>This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s </em>A Song of Ice and Fire<em> series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series, </em>Game of Thrones<em>. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only </em>Game of Thrones<em> and </em>A Song of Ice and Fire, <em>but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten.</em></p><p> </p><p>Chapter 1: Theon</p><p>The salon of Illyrio Mopatis was altogether too decadent with its lavish swathes of tulle, brocade and velvet in fiery orange, coral and red. Velvet cushions and pillows filled the room, making it a place for lounging and not the place for the likes of Theon Greyjoy, who sat on the rug – though even that was too soft, too luxurious. Daenerys Targaryen had been betrayed, and Theon supposed it was right for him to be considered among the possible culprits. Seated in the room with him was Ser Jorah Mormont, Moqorro the red priest, Archmaester Marwyn, Tyrion Lannister (naturally), and to Theon’s horror, his uncle Victarion, who he now knew was the queen’s lord husband. Theon kept his hood up, and hung his head low, directing it away from Victarion, which caught the notice of Lord Tyrion. The little man’s mismatched eyes twinkled when he was onto something apparently, for surely he had seen the similarity between Branrick of Westeros and the Theon Greyjoy he had glanced years earlier at Winterfell. Young Missandei entered and announced the queen, inducing all to kneel and bow their heads. Theon wasn’t sure what this was about, but he had certainly been keeping a secret from the queen, so he prepared himself for what would surely come.</p><p>Queen Daenerys entered, her trusted Dothraki priestess Maebi and master-at-arms Grey Worm of the Unsullied in tow, and in a most imperial raiment for the occasion. The skirt of the gown was black samite, glittering with tiny glass beads sewn in patterns like flames that glowed reddish in the afternoon light. The front was scarlet silk embroidered with black thread, and thinner, so the queen’s shapely legs were in nearly full view, covered only in a pair of black silk stockings sewed like fishing nets, and a pair of brutal looking black riding boots with impossibly tall heels. The black samite bodice held up the queen’s breasts, making them look plumper and putting them on display along with her smooth pale thighs. Any man would become weak of will at the sight of this beauty, which Theon understood was the point, but of course, he was not a man. A belt of bloodstone hung around her waist and its ends dangled alluringly between her legs. Her sleeves were red like the front of the skirt, sewn wider toward the wrist, and adorned with sparkling silver chains with black pearls and garnets. At the shoulders, the fabric had been sewn over wires so that they pointed sharply up toward the queen’s little ears. Ruby krakens bedecked those ears, and rubies with bloodstones dripped from her neck and over her creamy chest. Her fingers were decked with sharp filigree and ruby claws, and her headdress was a new dragon-form one made of a set of giant webbed wings in crimson silk, and horns of brass burnished almost black. Her lips had been painted white with a dark red strike in the center, and her face from her eyes up was dusted with red oil and powder, growing lighter as it reached her hairline. Black kohl drawn around her eyes and shadowed with silver-blue mica gave her a look of rage and ferocity, and yet highlighted her queenly beauty at the same time. Of course, the back of the gown was completely open, and Theon thought now that the web of scars across it seemed redder and inflamed.</p><p>“Many thanks for answering my summons, my lords. This is a matter of great concern,” she said. In her hand, she carried a rolled parchment.</p><p>“May I ask what this is all about my love?  The Pirate King awaits my sword,” said Victarion, whose fleet was embroiled in the Step Stones with the Bastard of the Driftmark and his ships stolen from the Westerosi crown. Theon shivered at the sound of his uncle’s voice.</p><p>“Unfortunately, <em>someone</em> has betrayed our secret to my nephew the prince, <em>my love</em>,” the queen said.</p><p><em>Oh no</em>, Theon thought. <em>No.</em></p><p>“Lord Tyrion, you are a man of letters,” Daenerys continued. “I received this parchment only yesterday…please read it aloud if you will.”</p><p>Lord Tyrion took the letter from her hand and read, and Theon’s heart fell into his stomach, as the queen stood staring out the window with her arms crossed:</p><p>
  <em>Daenerys,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am trying to withhold the worst of my Targaryen temper as I write this, despite being as wounded and outraged as I have ever been. I remember that you are my blood, and that you are a queen, but when I did not hear from you in some time, I did not imagine it to be because you were occupied with another husband. Yet I have received intelligence from someone close to my court that you are married, and that you have chosen for a husband not the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, your nephew who pledged his undying love and devotion to you again and again, but the brother of our most vile and dangerous enemy.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I cannot begin to convey how much you have hurt and humiliated me. To think I have defended your honor and your benevolence, only for you to make a liar out of me! How can I possibly trust you now? What did you think would happen here? Did you hope I would wait for you endlessly while you chased grumpkins and snarks in the North and warmed another man’s bed? Or did you hope I would take out some of our rivals and conveniently die so you could move in and take the realm yourself? </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am here, defending OUR kingdoms from OUR enemies, including your infamous good-brother, who has killed many of my men with his bloodmagic. I have been badly injured (not that you would care) while fighting the house that slaughtered my mother and your brother. What have you done lately to avenge our family? What have you done to eliminate the greatest nemesis our realm has ever known, besides lay down with his brother, who is said to be unfailing in his loyalty? I have exhausted enormous effort and resources to reclaim our kingdoms in the idiotic hope that soon my sweet Daenerys and her children would join me. What a fool I have been.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Do not blame your bold aged knight, for it was not he who exposed you, though he did confirm it when asked. Selmy at least understands the import of a vow. You can discuss it with him at length when he is directly returned to you.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I am marrying Arianne Martell, princess of Dorne, as soon as humanly possible, once we have returned from our parlay with our opponents in King’s Landing on the first eve of the new moon. I think you will understand this is happening quite without your approval (and was that ever coming?).</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I consider our betrothal rescinded, doing so happily, and in full knowledge of what you could do to deter me. Certainly, you could ride Drogon the Black across the Narrow Sea and end my life. Reduce me to ashes if that is your wish. I won’t ask you not to. I won’t ask you to support me, your prince, by coming to this parlay in the Dragonpit. I won’t ask you to lend the dragons to my struggle against the despots and sorcerers who continue to oppress our people. I’ll never ask you for anything ever again. Stay in your palace in Volantis and worship your red god. Keep your kraken husband and your foreign slaves. Let your only family in this world die at the hands of usurpers if that is what you prefer. I will rely on you no longer.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Your broken-hearted,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aegon VI Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Roynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm</em>
</p><p> </p><p>            Tyrion had barely finished reading before Victarion shot up from his seat, his face turning purple with anger. “That arrogant, insolent little prick! I should sail across the Narrow Sea this instant and shove my sword up his mainland arsehole! Just who does he think he is?”</p><p>            Theon shuddered and didn’t dare speak, though at the sound of the name Arianne Martell, he knew what had occurred. <em>It had to have been!</em></p><p>            “The Prince of Dragonstone, that’s who,” Daenerys said. She stormed over and faced her husband. “A more appropriate question asks from where this intelligence came from.”</p><p>            “You accuse me?” Victarion bellowed.</p><p>Lord Grey worm clutched his spear, but Theon’s uncle didn’t seem to notice. “You often seem to forget there is a reason our union is kept secret,” Dany said.</p><p>            Victarion put his face close to hers. “I forget nothing! But you’re daft if you think I would waste my time telling this little speck of dragon-waste anything. The first word I’d say to him would be the last, right before I skewered him and gave him to the sea.”</p><p>            At that, he stomped out of the room. Grey Worm made to go after him, but Dany waved for him to let him go. Theon realized he hadn’t been breathing, and he sucked in a great lungful of air. No one took notice.</p><p>            “Would anyone else care to leave and further arouse my suspicions?” Daenerys asked no one in particular. Theon’s mouth became dry, and the sweat poured from his back and forehead.</p><p>            “My queen,” said Lord Tyrion. “Perhaps we might wait until Ser Barristan arrives, that he might shed some light on this?”</p><p>            “Wouldn’t that be most convenient for my betrayer…” the queen said.</p><p>            “Khaleesi, I certainly don’t think we should let Victarion get far,” Ser Jorah said in a subdued voice. “Clearly he’s behind this.”</p><p>            <em>No,</em> Theon thought, but his voice caught in his throat.</p><p>            “Perhaps,” Daenerys said. “Perhaps it was a jealous husband who exposed our union...”</p><p>            She walked over and stood facing Jorah Mormont, a frightful looking man with a burly chest covered in hair and a hideously scarred face. He was as ugly as Theon, if not more so. Daenerys examined him closely. “Or perhaps,” she said. “It was my also very jealous friend and advisor?”</p><p>            Jorah looked pained. “Khaleesi, I said I would never again betray you and I meant it.”</p><p>            “I want to believe you. I do.” She put a jeweled hand upon his ravaged cheek. “Tell me – are you very angry with me for employing Lynesse?”</p><p>            Daenerys had given a pleasure house to Ser Jorah’s former wife, in order to provide succor and wages to the bed workers who fled the fire she set to Lys. Theon had spent his nights in Pentos there, in the root cellar.</p><p>            “I’m angry at myself, Khaleesi, not you,” Jorah answered. “I would never put your life in danger by exposing you. I swear on my own life!”</p><p>            Daenerys stood looking at him silently for a moment, until the old knight had to look down. Theon began to tremble, as Daenerys stepped away and stood before Lord Moqorro. The priest stood tall in his red robe, and his night-dark skin shone.</p><p>            “Then perhaps it was my husband’s man, the red priest of Rh’llor who has appeared from nowhere,” the queen said.</p><p>            “My queen is wise to question me, for my acquaintance with your lord husband was serendipitous indeed,” Moqorro said. “But I swear to you, the traitor is not myself.”</p><p>            “Would that be so, even if the Lord of Light wished it?”</p><p>            “The Lord <em>does not</em> wish it, I assure you, magnificence.”</p><p>            Theon swallowed. It felt as though his tongue had grown twice its size in his mouth. <em>Speak, you coward</em>, he told himself. Daenerys walked over to Lord Tyrion and stood before him.</p><p>            “Then perhaps Cersei Lannister wishes it of her long lost brother, in exchange for his life,” she said, and sat on an orange velvet cushion, bringing herself to his level. “If Griff turns against me, that is an advantage to your niece, is it not? What might Cersei forgive for the chance to save Myrcella from the fires of my children?”</p><p>            “I do not hate my niece as I hate my sister, your grace, it’s true,” Tyrion said. “But I also know that Myrcella is not your main target. She’s hardly even an obstacle for you…or young Griff for that matter. She is not even Robert’s heir, for what it’s worth.”</p><p>            “You never approved of my marriage, Lord Tyrion.”</p><p>            “I feared this marriage – for your sake, my queen, for the same reason I would never tell anyone about it…it’s dangerous. I must say I am sick with disappointment that this inhibits a union with Aegon, to whom you <em>should</em> be betrothed.”</p><p>            “Even though you recommended he leave me behind.”</p><p>            Theon heard the sadness in the queen’s voice, and felt nauseous. Tears came to his eyes as he prayed for the will to speak…to the Drowned God, to Rh’llor, to the Weeping Lady – whoever would listen.</p><p>            “I regret my tongue wasn’t hacked off beforehand, and I never dreamed he would actually listen to me. Always a misguided choice,” Tyrion was saying.</p><p>            “Now you know that isn’t true…”</p><p>            Theon knew that if he didn’t speak up soon, he would lose his nerve completely. “My queen,” he blurted finally. “If I may speak…”</p><p>            Slowly, with a grace that only Daenerys Targaryen possessed, the queen rose and turned toward Theon. “Lord Branrick? Something to confess? Stand then, my lord, and speak.”</p><p>            Theon stood up slowly, his knees wobbling. The queen reached out and pulled his hood from his head for him, then lifted his chin with her tiny, sparkling claw. “Be truthful, treasure, and I will show you mercy.”</p><p>            She smelled of orange rind, almonds, lemongrass and a hint of smoke. Her touch gave Theon the nerve to speak. “I know who sent word about Victarion to the prince…or rather, to the princess. Arianne. Arianne Martell.”</p><p>            His voice diminished to a squeak and he struggled to continue. The queen looked him deeply and squarely into his eyes. “Who is this sister-daughter of yours, Branrick?”</p><p>            “She…she is my sister. She is Asha of House Greyjoy, princess of the Iron Islands.”</p><p>            The room seemed to hum. “You’re Theon Greyjoy!” Lord Tyrion exclaimed.</p><p>            “I am,” Theon said, his voice quivering. “I’m so sorry I deceived you, my queen…it was…necessary…”</p><p>            “Because of Victarion,” Daenerys said, nodding, the wings of her headdress flapping ever so slightly. “It’s Asha then who has been holding off my enemies in the east.”</p><p>            “We came to make a pact with you…to serve you. Not just in business matters. But your enemies…they have a connection to Westeros. And to Aegon.”</p><p>            “What connection?”</p><p>            “Mellario of Norvos,” Theon said, feeling himself begin to cry. “We captured her in the caves. She has spies in every city…she’s…she is Arianne Martell’s mother.”</p><p>            Daenerys’s eyes looked sad underneath the paint and powder. “And Quentyn’s,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>Chapter 2: Victarion</p><p>At the same time every night, Victarion Greyjoy stopped sleeping. It didn’t matter if he had spent the entire day fighting or if he’d just been lounging in a whore’s bed – he woke up, without fail, at the same time on the clock. Tonight, Daenerys lay beside him, her back turned to him, obliterated with the red sprawl of scars from her flogging that caught the moonlight like a wet floor. Victarion rose, knowing by experience that he would sleep no more this night.</p><p>            He stood and then turned and looked at his wife the queen, who slept oblivious to his stare. She was nude and had thrown off the coverlet, as it was a hot night, and lay on her side with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her silver hair had flung itself out from her skull in all directions like wild tentacles. Victarion looked upon her for some time, contemplating what he should so, what he <em>must</em> do, before it was too late. However, his mind drifted to the sweetness of her kisses, and the smell of her skin, and as usual, he could not steel himself. Dany fell into what must have been dreams off and on while he watched. Sometimes her body jerked ever so slightly, and he thought she would wake, but instead she only let out the tiniest grunt followed by a sigh and slept on.</p><p>            They had not shared a bed for what seemed to Victarion a very long time – not since they had argued about her fruitless quest to end slavery, as if such a thing were possible. It was a dream of madness, and he had told her such. She had answered by banning him from her bed. Then she had accused him of informing her nephew of their marriage, which was kept secret for political reasons. Why did they care if the sniveling little dragonspawn knew anyway? It was Euron they had to fear. There was nothing for it, however. A queen like Dany would not suffer a sound beating. The only men who had ever raised their hands to her, whether she deserved it or no, were dead.</p><p>Perhaps he did not need to kill her. If she kept this wild goose chase up, he had reasoned, she would soon die at any rate. The day’s battles made this seem more possible than ever. The Iron Fleet had been engaging in skirmishes with the Lord of the Waters in and around the Step Stones for nearly three weeks, but when the fight came to a head, Dany and her dragons had joined the fray. Aurane Waters commanded enormous dromonds, three-decked monsters, paid for with gold from the crown of Westeros. They managed to sink full five of Victarion’s ships with ramming alone, but the Ironborn had answered with flaming arrows, and swords wielded by men worth nine mainland fighters each. When Dany arrived on the scene, her dragons set a half dozen of the Waters fleet ablaze, blasting them apart as though they were but children’s toys. The Pirate King sent his arrows flying skyward to snuff her, but Dany wore her black and silver steel armor, constructed by skilled freedmen, and between that and the maneuvering of Drogon the Black, she cheated death again and again.</p><p>At last, Victarion faced the Lord of the Waters himself, a long-faced silver-haired devil with a whiplash smile. Aurane Waters was a skilled swordsman and quick, but no match for Victarion’s axe. <em>Take him alive</em>, Dany had ordered, for she knew he had secrets about King’s Landing she could use, but Victarion was sorely tempted to separate his handsome head from his body. Waters had made the same offer to Dany that Victarion himself had made: abandon pursuing the end of slavery, marry him and let them rule the Free Cities together. The worst insult was knowing this offer was one someone else could easily give. <em>Let me fight slavery with you, </em>was a rarer man’s offer, and the one she wanted to hear. Now one man had made it, and him just as mad as she. When Victarion had gotten wind of the Black Bastard’s message, he knew the time was nigh. <em>Kill her now, before madness joins madness and ends the world as we know it.</em></p><p>However, just when Victarion had subdued Aurane Waters, he had spied the scorpion on the prow of another dromond sailing just to the west. A great beast of wood and iron, like a crossbow the size of an elephant, the scorpion was an invention of the old world. It could fire a missile something like a spear of heavy iron, and if it struck in the right place, could cripple or even kill a dragon – something nothing else could. Victarion had taken off Waters’s arm just below the elbow, and as the fallen bastard of the Driftmark desperately worked to tie a stretch of sleeve around the stump to staunch the bleeding, Victarion began with glee to sheer off his hair. It was then that he heard the loud <em>thrrrunng </em>of the scorpion, and turned his head to see the projectile soar and just miss the wing of the green beast, who answered with a stream of fire that sent the scorpion to flaming bits. That wasn’t the only scorpion though, and as Waters screamed in pain, Victarion watched as another missile struck Drogon in the hip. He and Dany went spiraling down toward the deep, the black dragon screeching and the queen in her heavy armor.</p><p>How his heart had sunk – as surely Dany would. It had taken all the joy out of seeing Aurane Waters humiliated. He had to question whether he had the strength to do what needed to be done, if the thought of her death wrenched his soul the way it had done in that moment. In a way, it was perfect: Dany would be dead, the world would be free of a tyrant, and he would be without blame and free to rule the Free Cities as he saw fit. But it did not feel like triumph – it had felt like a poison in his gut.</p><p>On their bed, Dany stretched out her legs and pulled them up again, and Victarion heard the sound of her licking her lips in the darkness. Even in the dark, some of the bruises where arrows had pinged against her armor showed – a nasty one near her hips in particular, and another on her ribcage near her breast. Victarion touched each bruise very lightly with his tentacle, whose touch was more sensitive that his remaining human hand. Dany stirred only slightly, sighing and grunting like a pup under its mother’s tongue. <em>Do it now, and she will feel nothing</em>, he thought.</p><p>Luckily, she and Drogon had landed upon the island of Bloodstone, and every scorpion and its operator were soon reduced to embers and ashes. Those who fought for the Lord of the Waters fled or perished, many deserting when they saw their captain in chains, armless and hairless. Victarion’s Ironborn took three of the biggest three-deckers and steered them to Bloodstone, where the queen was frantically yanking the great stinger from her scaly black mount. A crazed horseman with a lance galloped toward her in one last brave and maniacal attempt to end the Dragon Queen’s rule, but Drogon put an end to that before Dany even knew what was going on.<a href="#_ftn1" id="_ftnref1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a> When she had extracted the barb from Drogon’s hip, she stood as if dazed, staring out over the water. Victarion disembarked and ran toward her. <em>We are victorious,</em> he had shouted, but Dany stood unresponsive. He thought perhaps she was wounded, but other than the smallest trickle of blood where her armor had chafed at her armpit, she appeared unhurt. Victarion loosened the screws of her helm and pulled it from her head to find her unmarked in face and head as well, though her open-mouthed stare suggested shock.</p><p>He had taken her cheek in his good hand. “My queen,” he said. “Cockle Shell. I believe the Tyroshi wish to surrender now.”</p><p>“Drogon’s hurt.”</p><p>“Daenerys. Queen Daenerys…” Victarion took her by the shoulders. “I believe the magisters of Tyrosh would very much like to surrender now please…”</p><p>Dany looked at him as though he were a stranger, then began to cry like a lost child.</p><p>“My queen…with this victory we have the Free Cities and the Disputed Lands at our feet…do you understand?”<a href="#_ftn2" id="_ftnref2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a></p><p>The queen stopped crying then, coming back to herself. With her usual dignity and brutal grace, she accepted the surrender of Tyrosh, Myr and Lys all in one. She declared that they would share the disputed lands equally, and that she would build a great academy for the apprentices of the Cities in Myr’s name, as they had been the most cooperative with her cause. <em>Now comes an era of freedom,</em> she shouted over the crowd, <em>when those who were once bound in chains will rule this world! </em>The first thousand freedmen who wished to apprentice there would have their fees paid with the spoils of Lys and the Pirate King. Victarion cringed at that – the loot should have been his and hers! He didn’t like all this talk of freedmen ruling their own cities, either. However, he bit his tongue and kept his distance until they were safely hidden inside the<em> Iron Victory’s </em>queen’s chambers. Drogon flew away to recover from his wounds at Torturer’s Deep – and to feed on the corpses of their enemies no doubt.</p><p>Victarion didn’t wait to be summoned to her chambers…it was his ship, after all. A couple of Dothraki ladies – the older priestess and the skinny one who prepared her audiences – were helping her remove her armor and slip into a bath. They pushed him out of the room and into a bath too – which could only mean the queen meant to see him. He scrubbed the gore and salt and filth from his skin and changed quickly, feeling embarrassed at how anxious he was to see the queen. His loins had been on fire for her, but her anger would not abate. Dany was one to hold onto anger long – something they had in common to be sure. This time, he knocked before opening the door and finding her waiting for him in a soft sleeping gown. She limped over and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. The maids had washed her hair in orchid water, and her scalp smelled sweet.</p><p>“Are you hurt, Cockle Shell? You’re hobbling,” he said, trying to act gentle. Anything he said might get him ejected from her bed when she was in a state such as this.</p><p>“I fell from Drogon’s back when we landed…it’s only a little sprain,” said Dany.</p><p>Upon her knock, Dany bid Maebi the priestess enter, carrying some goat milk, dried figs and smoked fish with black bread, and her bag of tonics: dream wine, milk of the poppy, some herbal odds and ends, and a jar of the new poison they called ash. At first, the queen refused all, but at her spiritual advisor’s prodding, took a small amount of the ash dissolved in milk with honey.</p><p>“Leave the dream wine, too,” Victarion commanded.</p><p>“As you wish, Captain,” the woman said. When would these savages learn the word <em>king</em>?</p><p>When Maebi was gone, Dany sat upon her bed and put her head into her hands.</p><p>“Don’t cry, Cockle Shell. We have the Free Cities. Now we can began our reign.”</p><p>“Your reign is beginning. Mine is soon to end here.”</p><p>“What in hell do you mean?”</p><p>“As soon as this war is over, a new one begins, and I realized today I probably won’t live through both.”</p><p>“Don’t say that. You’re distraught and talking nonsense.”</p><p>Victarion sat on the bed beside her and pulled her onto his lap. He brought a cup of dream wine to her lips, and she hesitated, but then drank a small draught and sighed. Victarion realized she was trembling. “It was worse than his hurts in Daznak’s Pit…that weapon,” she said in a weak voice.</p><p>“That weapon is no match for your beasts. They laughed at it, and so will we.”</p><p>Dany looked in his eyes and finally began to see him, and likely she felt his member hardening against her backside as well. Victarion caressed her arm very gently, trying not to press upon her bruises, or make presumptions. He knew he must go easy. He kissed her beneath the jaw, and felt her muscles go limp and her body melt into him. Slowly, he got her nightgown off and her body beneath his. When he took her at last, he found her sopping wet. Victarion knew what it took to soothe the little queen. When they were finished, the wine and the ash had taken hold of her, and she became as peaceful as a babe in the womb. She muttered some silliness about krakens, white wolves and mummer’s dragons, and then drifted into a deep sleep.</p><p>He could put his longsword through her heart now, while she was contentedly sleeping, trusting him to protect her. Surely, the lords of Westeros would reward him. Mad and dangerous she was – perhaps others were blind to it, but not him. He read the true menace beneath her sweet exterior. If he waited too long, the world would find out certainly enough.</p><p>Dany moaned softly, stretched out her legs, and rolled onto her belly. She began to snore faintly, and Victarion’s chest seemed to turn into water. He ran a finger gently along the cleft of her arse, bent and kissed her temple, then pulled the coverlet that was bunched at the foot of the bed over her body. <em>I will do what needs to be done,</em> he thought. <em>But not now.</em></p><p> </p><p>Chapter 3: The Kraken’s Daughter</p><p>Daario Naharis and Ginger the Horn’s daughter certainly seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. Asha supposed if a general put two shameless flirts together on her front line, she would deal with this at one time or another. Meanwhile, stinking bundles of burning flesh were whizzing over their sails, and she had lost sight of Tris – again.</p><p>            “Excuse me, are we doing all right here?” Asha said as she approached her fighting-lady and the Tyroshi sellsword, whose gold tooth beamed from between his lips.</p><p>            “Quite all right, many thanks, your grace,” Daario said with a small bow. He was a sight among men with his blue hair and braided beard, and he wore so much jewelry that Asha wondered how it wasn’t too heavy to fight in. Still there was something about him – Asha understood some of what the Dragon Queen saw in him.</p><p>            She stood very close to him and asked, in a warning tone, “Chatting it up? Having a little chit-chat?”</p><p>            “I suppose you could say…”</p><p>            “Little back and forth? Little dialogue?”</p><p>            “Indeed, your grace, we…”</p><p>            “What are you all talking about? Battle?” Asha’s voice grew louder. “Because there’s a war going on.”</p><p>            “Yes of course, Captain,” Ginger chimed in, her freckled cheeks reddening.</p><p>            “I was wondering if you’d like to participate in the fighting…”</p><p>            “Our apologies, Captain…”</p><p>            “Is our war disrupting your conversation? Should we stop the war and gather ‘round?”</p><p>            “That’s not necessary…”</p><p>            “Perhaps we should light a campfire so that you can tell your stories…”</p><p>            “No, your grace, we…”</p><p>            “Spin your tales! <em>Regale us</em> Daario and Ginger!”<a href="#_ftn3" id="_ftnref3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a></p><p>            Asha was aware that she was growing increasingly short with her troops of late. She grew exhausted more quickly, too, and the farther east she had taken her fleet, the more danger seemed to pile itself on top of her. She had managed to get control back of their cities for Naharis and Ben Plumm, and Skahaz the Shavepate had been thoroughly disposed of, but now the remaining cities of Slaver’s Bay (soon to be renamed Dragon Bay) were on the offensive. Currently, her fleet was holding them off, but they were not without losses already. In particular, ships from Elyria had taken to lighting the decapitated heads of plague victims and catapulting them in their direction.</p><p>            The area of Slaver’s Bay, it seemed, was a den of monsters and evil spirits – some of which looked like people. The doom of Valyria and its ghosts, not to mention the dark legacy of years of slavery – the sorrow and suffering of generations of the enslaved – had turned the place into a kind of living underworld, a hell where demons walked with earthly feet. Much of the population had been decimated by the pale mare, and it was still necessary for Asha and her men to go about the urban areas wearing masks that covered their faces, adorned with huge beaks containing vinegar and spices to ward off the stench and miasma of the disease. They skulked around Tolos, a city in the western area of the Bay, like great hunched birds.<a href="#_ftn4" id="_ftnref4" name="_ftnref4">[4]</a> Tolos was a virtual ghost town. Those who hadn’t succumbed to the plague had gone west to join the fight either for or against Daenerys Targaryen, depending on their status. Most of these were slavers, as slaves were the more susceptible to illness, but most couldn’t manage to secure their gold, which Asha and her army made off with rather easily.</p><p>            Astapor was now a complete ruin, and abandoned, much like Tolos. Yunkai seemed as though it could be salvaged, but it would be some time before the freedmen could rebuild and truly self-govern. For now, the sorcerer’s of the defunct House of the Undying, and the Tourmaline Brotherhood of Qarth, were a constant threat, as were the mysterious denizens of Mantarys, a city of the tip of the Sea of Sighs rumored to by populated by monsters. The Shavepate, ironically, seemed to think Daenerys should have razed the place when she had a chance. When Asha asked him what his former queen did to make him turn against her, he expressed disdain for her prudence.</p><p>“She’s a frightened girl…that’s all she ever was,” he said as they lashed him to the pyre.</p><p>“She’s still in the game. She’s not going anywhere,” Asha had said.</p><p>“She’s not built for this. Her heart pumps honey water.”<a href="#_ftn5" id="_ftnref5" name="_ftnref5">[5]</a></p><p>“And you I suppose are built for this?”</p><p>“Without a doubt.”</p><p>“Well let’s see, shall we? If you can survive the fire, too, then you are equal to the Dragon Queen indeed.”</p><p>Incidentally, he was not equal. He became ashes as all did inside the night fires. Until that moment, Asha hadn’t taken steadfastly to Rh’llor. She had said the words, recited the prayers, but there had never been anything behind them. But as the Shavepate’s screams faded, and the fire roared under the moon, Asha saw something in the flames. She saw a pyramid, like that which she had seen in the caves of Norvos, taller and greater than the one in Mereen. At the top was the Kraken of her house, carved in pink granite. A monstrous voice said, <em>Elyria</em>, and then she saw no more.</p><p>So she had taken her army to Slaver’s Bay, and closed in on the island on which the dark city of Elyria sat, and engaged in a sea battle that songs might be written about. If they survived, she would commission her red priest Dandelion to do just that. But in the now, a ship approached from the horizon, larger than any in her own fleet, an enormous longship with sails of marine blue that signified the Tourmaline Brotherhood. As it raged forward, flaming heads flying forth from its prow, Asha said prayers to Rh,llor. However, she also said prayers to the god of her father, the Drowned God, under her breath. <em>Come on, dark deep one. Hear you daughter’s plea…</em></p><p>Suddenly, as she watched, the sea beneath the great enemy vessel seemed to boil, and black oily waves arose, surrounding it. Then she realized they were no waves, they were tentacles – mighty dark arms at least two yards in diameter. The flaming heads ceased to fly, and the screams of those on board could be heard from where Asha stood on deck of the <em>Black Wind.</em> The gigantic suckered appendages closed in on the huge ship with a thunderous loud crashing noise, and pulled it under the water. Just like that, it was gone without a trace, and Dragon Bay became deadly silent.<a href="#_ftn6" id="_ftnref6" name="_ftnref6">[6]</a></p><p> </p><p>Chapter 4: Euron</p><p>The Dragonpit sat atop Rhaenys’s Hill, a huge and formidable ruin, the once-domed roof in shreds of beams that reminded Euron a little of tentacles. It had been a place meant to inhibit magic – to cage the mighty beasts that made the Targaryens rulers of the land. Perhaps that was why Myrcella had chosen it. It was no secret that magic frightened the girl. Little did she know! Euron could quite easily bring on storm or a quake that would bring the crumbling dragon-castle down upon their heads, but of course, that might kill him too. He did have his fireball spell, and he had the Qartheen warlock he called Graylocks. His real name was some unpronounceable abomination, so Euron called him that instead because of his thick, curly gray tresses. It made him stand out among the three warlocks he kept, the other two of whom were bald, and who Euron called Thing One and Thing Two.<a href="#_ftn7" id="_ftnref7" name="_ftnref7">[7]</a> Along with Graylocks, came his dozen captains and sworn swords, and currently swimming in Blackwater Bay between the ships of his fleet: at least five hundred Deep Ones. How succulent was the terror of the faces of the citizens when they saw them crawling toward the beach!</p><p>            Still, it wasn’t want Euron had really wanted to bring. This was a long journey for the Deep Ones, and hundreds had died and hundreds more would probably die on the way back west, meaning he would need to bring in more breeders. It was unknown how many would be lost on their way to the Stony Shore as well, not to mention the ensuing battle with the Northmen afterward. What he had wanted was to bring <em>him</em>, but for some reason he couldn’t find the great sea beast. He blew the conch horn again and again, but nothing. Euron had a theory as to its disappearance, and it had to do with his niece, but it was no matter. She would be his queen soon enough, or she would die. In the meantime, the Deep Ones would do, and Euron had another surprise aboard the <em>Silence</em>. However, that would only appear if young Griff or Myrcella decided to give him a reason. Oh how he hoped they would give him a reason.</p><p>            Each was represented, sitting on a dais that was positioned according to the part of the realm they were supposed to represent: Euron in the north, Myrcella in the south, Griff in the east, and Lord Edmure Tully to the west. Euron wore a breastplate of black steel beneath his dark overcoat, which was made of a charmed fabric that looked purple in some lights and crimson in other lights, but black when the clouds covered the sun. Myrcella looked especially beautiful in a black samite gown with a mink collar and mink-trimmed sleeves that glittered with gold thread, and a circlet of gold antlers atop her head. Her mother looked gorgeous as well in a high-necked crimson velvet gown decorated with lions’ faces in gold silk. It hugged the curves of her hips so tight she had to sit down sideways. With them stood their rather pathetic queensguard and Qyburn the old necromancer, but that was it.</p><p>Griff had brought his sellsword army, and a sizeable set of knights from here and there, plus an impressive royal Dornish guard. His kingsguard stood with him, along with a young maester and an older septa, an aging knight with a sour face, Homeless Harry the commander of the Golden Company, two fierce-looking Dornish women, and a less fierce-looking Dornish youth. The magnificently beautiful Dornish lady who sat on his right with her thick dark curls, wearing a yellow gown with a delightfully low neck, was plainly meant to be his queen. The boy made a good show of himself – that was not to be denied. He wore black and red from head to toe, with lobstered steel armor and a silver crown embellished with obsidian. From looking at Myrcella’s expression, Euron determined the young Dornishman must be Trystane Martell, which meant the prince’s lovely mate must be the princess Arianne. Euron used his glass tube to get a better look at her… those breasts! Those black eyes! She looked quite a bit like her mother, but was in fact much more comely.</p><p>            Then there was Edmure Tully, and frankly Euron didn’t know what the hell he was doing there. Maybe he didn’t either. With him stood a few of his bannerman, or what had been his bannermen before Sansa put on her crown. Petyr Baelish was there with some thugs belonging to him, and there was a red priest with them as well, and an outlaw-type in a yellow cloak. Euron was disappointed that Sansa and her dear old mother hadn’t shown. It would have been a delight to see Cersei’s reaction. But he supposed Sansa didn’t wish to set foot in King’s Landing unless it was absolutely necessary, and the sight of Lady Stoneheart would probably induce the little lioness to vomit. The wretch was already twitching and jerking her head to the side about every ten minutes. <em>The pain will soon be over little honey pot – of that you can be sure.</em></p><p>            Qyburn walked to the center in his oversized robe and cleared his throat. “Welcome, lords and ladies of this great realm. Today is a day of peaceful negotiation. We hope to come to understanding between us that will restore this country to its former prosperity and strength with as little bloodshed as possible. Please partake of bread and salt, as a token of the Queen’s vow that none shall come to harm as we discuss our plans for the future.”</p><p>            Servants were deployed with trenchers of sliced bread and dishes of course salt, followed by a fine Arbor gold in cups of pewter. Qyburn continued: “We will start with each, uh...leader’s demands in turn, beginning with our Queen Myrcella, followed by Prince Aegon, then Lord Tully, and finally King Euron will speak. After each leader has presented his or her demands, we will immediately begin negotiations.”</p><p>            It was Euron himself who requested he speak last, and they would soon find out why. Qyburn went over and stood before Myrcella then, and introduced her with the usual long litany of titles. Myrcella stood and held her chin up as best she could between spasms. When she spoke, it quickly became apparent that the words had been coached to her by her mother, who glared in Griff’s direction the entire time.</p><p>            “The Crown’s demands are as follows. I, Myrcella of House Baratheon will retain full rule of the Seven Kingdoms. Heresy in said kingdoms will end forthwith – those who refuse to adhere to the Faith of the Seven will be imprisoned until which time they convert to the true faith, are sent to the Wall, or executed according to their choice. All rebels will surrender to my rule, and both Lady Stoneheart and Jon Snow will be delivered to the Capital for their immediate execution by headsman. Other rebel factions and their leaders will receive mercy as long as they relinquish their rule, along with any false gods, and lay down all arms.”</p><p>            Even if she couldn’t hear Euron’s laughter, it was clear Myrcella didn’t expect to walk away with these expectations met. Cersei’s glare transferred from Griff to him, so Euron smiled seductively and winked at her. Griff rose then and stepped forward with an impressive youthful swagger. The older knight introduced him with the same titles Myrcella was given, with the addition of “rightful,” strongly stressed.</p><p>            “My lords, ladies, thank you for agreeing to meet with me here. I am truly grateful that we can have this parlay,” he began. <em>So polite</em>, Euron thought. The boy’s voice was strong and confident, and his silver hair gleamed in the morning light. Euron guessed he dampened a lot of young ladies’ smallclothes.</p><p>            “I demand only my birthright: the Seven Kingdoms. Rebel factions will be pardoned as long as they relinquish their rule and lay down arms, and that includes Jon Snow and Sansa Arryn, though the Lady Stoneheart must end her campaign immediately. Myrcella Baratheon will return to Dorne to be sheltered by House Martell. Euron Greyjoy will return to the Iron Islands and honor the integrity of the Seven Kingdoms. No raping. No reaving. Further, there will be no religious edict. The people will worship freely as they wish as long as I am their king. Finally, I demand full access to all caches of wildfire for use against a dangerous northern enemy identified not only by Jon Snow, but numerous other men of the Night’s Watch.”</p><p>            He stared daggers at Euron when he said the words “raping” and “reaving.” His anger could melt iron. He was playing the merciful one – that was one way to go, but Euron didn’t believe for a moment that he wouldn’t hack off Cersei’s head as soon as he got the chance.</p><p>Edmure Tully didn’t convey quite the same confidence as the silver prince. His voice had the wobble that comes from a too-long prison sentence. He spoke for his queen, Sansa, and for the god Rh’llor. That was surprising. All he wanted was independence for the Riverlands, the North, and the Vale, and the freedom to worship without persecution. Then, another surprise.</p><p>            “Finally,” Tully said, taking a breath. “My queen demands the head of Cersei of House Lannister, for crimes against the Riverlands and the North.”</p><p>            That took incredible balls…however, Cersei just laughed. Tully didn’t press the point that probably wasn’t his point at all, but took his seat again silently. Now it was Euron’s turn, and he needed no one else to introduce him.</p><p>            “For those who don’t know me,” Euron began. “I am Euron of House Greyjoy, Third of his Name Since the Grey King, King of the Iron Isles and the North, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, Lord Reaper of Pyke, and captain of the <em>Silence</em>…” As he introduced himself, he strolled along and met the eyes of each of his enemies, meeting fear in many of them – but not in Griff’s. To his credit, only steel and fire shone out from those purple beauties. That was good – Euron found cowards so very boring.</p><p>            “My demands are as follows.<em> I</em> will retain rule of the Seven Kingdoms, with Myrcella Baratheon as my lady wife. Furthermore, Westeros will open itself to the eastern slave trade. I couldn’t care less about heretics…worship trees, worship fire, worship pigeons if you like…I don’t give a fuck…but all rebels will lay down their arms or meet their doom.”</p><p>            “Please, Lord Greyjoy, your grace…” Myrcella said in response. “You surely cannot expect us to allow slavery. The people will not tolerate it.”</p><p>            “Well then you should know I don’t give a rat’s fart about what the people will tolerate,” said Euron.</p><p>            “Begging your pardon, your grace,” Griff said to Myrcella. “But the people won’t tolerate an oppressive religious law either.”</p><p>            “On the contrary, prince Aegon,” Cersei interrupted. “The people have demanded that this scourge of a cult be stricken from this land, as well as Jon Snow and his heathen gods. That you not only wish to pardon these heinous criminals, but to provide them with wildfire, shows you to be utterly incapable of ruling this country.”</p><p>            “It is you who are incapable…one need only ask any lord in this realm, to say nothing of the smallfolk, to know that. As king, I mean to see my people safe and fed. Had you done so, Jon Snow, Lady Sansa and Lord Tully might never have rebelled in the first place. Your incompetence drove them to their heathen gods.”</p><p>            Euron noted that Lord Tully nodded at this. Then he noted something else. In the distance to the east, through the open roof of the dome, a dark shape fluttered. It was coming in fast, growing larger as it neared. At first, it looked like a bird, but soon it became apparent this thing was of tremendous size.</p><p>            “You’re a fool, prince,” Cersei said, making the prince’s face turn fiery red. “You want to rule? Ruling is lying on a bed of weeds, ripping them out by the root one by one before they strangle you in your sleep.”<a href="#_ftn8" id="_ftnref8" name="_ftnref8">[8]</a></p><p>            “You’re wrong…and you’re evil,” Griff said, then turned to Myrcella. “Your grace, I am the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Ask yourself if you would defy the very Gods you seek to force on people, when instead you could have happiness elsewhere…”</p><p>            Griff glanced at Trystane, and the Dornishman and the lioness had a moment, while the dark shape in the distance grew still larger and came in faster. Cersei was having none of it.</p><p>            “Listen to me, young <em>Griff</em>,” said Cersei fuming. “What proof have we that you are the son of Rhaegar? As far as we know, you’re nothing more than a foreign pretender.”</p><p>Euron stood up then and open his glass tube to get a better look at what approached. In seconds, he knew. What was flying toward them with the speed of the wind, black and terrible, was a dragon!</p><p> </p><p><a href="#_ftnref1" id="_ftn1" name="_ftn1">[1]</a> Benioff, David and D.B. Weiss, <em>Game of Thrones</em>, Season 7, Episode 4: “The Spoils of War,” HBO, 2017.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref2" id="_ftn2" name="_ftn2">[2]</a> Gilliam, Terry, <em>Time Bandits</em>, Handmade Films, 1981.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref3" id="_ftn3" name="_ftn3">[3]</a> Small, Brendon. <em>Home Movies</em>, Season 4, Episode 1: “Everyone’s Entitled to My Opinion,” Cartoon Network, 2003.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref4" id="_ftn4" name="_ftn4">[4]</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plague_doctor#/media/File:Paul_F%C3%BCrst,_Der_Doctor_Schnabel_von_Rom_(coloured_version).png">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plague_doctor#/media/File:Paul_F%C3%BCrst,_Der_Doctor_Schnabel_von_Rom_(coloured_version).png</a></p><p><a href="#_ftnref5" id="_ftn5" name="_ftn5">[5]</a> Simon, David. <em>The Wire</em>, Season 1, Episode 12: “Cleaning Up,” HBO, 2002.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref6" id="_ftn6" name="_ftn6">[6]</a> Verbinski, Gore. <em>Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest</em>, Disney, 2006.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref7" id="_ftn7" name="_ftn7">[7]</a> Dr. Suess, <em>The Cat in the Hat</em>, publ. 1957.</p><p><a href="#_ftnref8" id="_ftn8" name="_ftn8">[8]</a> Benioff &amp; Weiss, <em>Game of Thrones</em>, Season 2, Episode 2: “The Night Lands,” HBO, 2012.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am writing in a limited POV style like Martin's, which is a suffocating way to write. I have thought of a lot of neat scenes that don't fit into the POV limits I set for myself, or don't move the story along quickly enough to include in the series. I will write these out if someone requests it. If you like this story, and would like to see a scene that got skipped or glossed over, OR that is in the POV of someone who is not a Stark, Targaryen, Baratheon, Greyjoy, or Lannister, let me know what you'd like to see, and I will make a Wheel of Westeros B-side out of it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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